It Ends Where It Began
by constantinexfreak
Summary: Oneshot of the final battle between Harry and Lord Voldemort. T for character death.


**A/N: Here's a bit of a background on the piece.**

**I originally wrote this oneshot back in 2005 after the release of HBP for a fanfic contest on the official HP messaging boards. I was 14 at the time. I just found it and figured I'd put it up here for the heck of it. So enjoy!**

"This is it," said Harry, folding up the piece of parchment and looking at a run-down, two-story house. "1327 Stone Drive, Godrics Hollow." He looked back at Hermione and Ron, feeling his heart skip a beat. This was the place where he had been born; the place where he was should have been raised. This was his parent's house, and not just any house, this was the house where they were murdered and where he had survived. This would also be the house where everything would end.

Harry led the two into the gate, looking around the dead garden. Weeds were overrunning it. It must have been beautiful when it was in bloom; he could still make out the slight outlining of a patch of dead rose bushes through the darkness. A picture flashed into his head: his mother watering the flowers with the tip of her wand whilst holding a young baby Harry; his father sitting on the porch, the day's prophet in his hand as he sipped some tea. Harry shook his head, ridding himself of the thought. It could have been, but he didn't want to think of the could haves.

They walked up onto the porch, the floorboards creaking beneath their weight. Harry removed his wand and walked up to the door, resting his hand on the handle. Clenching the knob, he turned it slowly. It was unlocked. He looked back at the two, giving them a wary glance before turning to the house again, pushing the door open and walking through the threshold.

Harry muttered 'Lumos,' light spreading throughout the dusty house. He looked around the room which he entered, carrying his wand in the direction of his eyes. Furniture laid about the house, torn and ragged. The carpeted floor felt damp and squishy under Harry's shoes, and the house had an odd smell; a smell of death and decay. Whether or not that was because of the age of the house or for the fact that there might actually be dead bodies about, Harry did not know.

Suddenly, Harry turned about, looking at his closest friends.

"You don't have to stay," he said, speaking softly, but urgent none the less. "I understand."

"No," said Hermione quickly. "We're staying with you through and through."

Harry looked at Ron and Ron gave a strong nod in agreement. Harry smiled a little and nodded, turning back to the house before him. He took in a deep breath, not too sure what to expect.  
There had been many reports of his old house coming back to life. Rumors were spreading that Death Eaters were setting up camp there, and more importantly, other rumors were saying that Lord Voldemort himself was staying there, hoping, waiting, teasing for Harry to come along.

Well, if Voldemort was there, he had got what he wanted. Harry had arrived. Harry had arrived with hope. Hope that Voldemort was waiting for him. Harry would end it all tonight; there was no doubt about that in his mind.

_Thump._

"Did you hear that?" asked Ron, removing his own wand as well.

"Yes," Harry said, nodding, looking upstairs. He pointed his wand up, hearing some more footsteps on the second floor.

Without warning, Harry felt a surge of pain run through his scar and he bolted upstairs, running as fast as he could, hearing the duo behind him. He arrived on the second landing and saw a light shining through a door cracked open. Harry stopped dead in his tracks, looking at the door. With the shining light coming from the room Harry was able to clearly see, on the door in large letters:

_**HARRY**_

It had been his room as a baby.

Enraged, with no sense, just emotion, Harry charged for the room. He crashed the door in and was thrown into a room painted blue. The paint was chipping and the color was faded. Harry looked around for the source of the light. In the corner on a desk lay a nightlight. It was a circular metal tin that spun, projecting images of light on the walls; broomsticks, snitches, as well as Wizard hats and goblins. Harry felt a sudden chill run up his neck. It was quiet, too quiet. He didn't hear Hermione or Ron. Swallowing hard, Harry turned slowly, seeing that the door behind him was now closed.

Hearing a movement to the side of him, Harry turned on instinct, noticing a cradle by the window, and right in front of it stood Lord Voldemort himself, leaning against the cradle, an evil grin spread across his face. The images of light from the nightlight distorted as they crossed over Voldemort's body.

"You son of a-" started Harry as he lunged for Voldemort only to be cut off and stopped as Voldemort raised his wand. Harry felt a grip around his throat, cutting his voice off and choking him slowly. Harry clenched his teeth, feeling the pressure against his throat loosen and then tighten again. Voldemort held his wand limply between his fingers, shaking his head as he smiled.

Slowly, Harry lifted his wand, but his attempt to do anything about the situation at hand was futile. Voldemort walked over slowly, that malevolent smile placed along his thin lips, his red eyes burning with rage, passion, and joy all at the same time. Harry tried to mutter a spell, an Unforgivable Curse, but the invisible grip around his throat tightened, allowing no words to escape. Voldemort grabbed Harry's wand with ease, tutting as he did so.

"Didn't your mother teach you to never play with illegal spells?" he said teasingly, slipping the wand in the side pocket of his robes. "I suppose not. You were too young to understand even the simplest of words."

The grip loosened around Harry's neck and Harry was able to mutter out a mix of curses and swears. "Oh now that's no good," Voldemort said, laughing manically. His high pitched laughter echoed throughout the room and Harry could have sworn he heard a faint thumping on the door.

Voldemort stood before Harry, staring down at him. Harry gasped slightly at the growing pain in his scar and head. Voldemort laughed again and released his grip on Harry's throat, letting Harry fall to the floor, clutching his forehead in pain.

"Harry, Harry, Harry," Voldemort said, nudging him with his foot, shaking his head still. "You haven't learned, have you? You come here, in the middle of the night of course, searching for myself with only two others? A Mudblood, a Weasley no doubt. Very cliché Harry, very cliché. I must say that I am nothing but disappointed."

Harry moved away from Voldemort's foot, feeling the pain subside slowly. He looked up at the man, his heart in his throat, his anger boiling inside his veins. Voldemort hadn't changed too much since their last encounter at the Ministry of Magic, except he looked a bit more human. The slits for his nose were gone, and a rather small nose took its place. His skin was still abnormally pale, although his body looked full and masculine.

"Stand up," Voldemort said quietly, backing away. Harry stared at him, not moving nor speaking. "STAND UP!"

His voice echoed throughout the room and Harry was sure that anyone within the vicinity of the house had heard. Slowly, Harry stood, never letting his eyes leave the man that murdered his parents. He breathed heavily, shaking his head slowly.

"You murdered my parents," Harry said, his voice deep and low.

"Oh, how many times have I heard this?" Voldemort said, shaking his head and slipping his forehead under his hand, massaging his temple. "Harry, it was bound to happen. I murdered Longbottom's parents as well and countless others. It's all part of the solution."

Harry fell silent and Voldemort looked up, but not at Harry. He looked around the room and laughed quietly, turning his gaze back to Harry.

"It seems it'll end where it began," he said.

Harry didn't speak. He didn't move. He couldn't. Shaking slightly as he breathed, he heard the faint pounding on the door grow louder. He figured that Voldemort had used a sort of silencing spell, and it was wearing out. Within moments, the pounding was now at a normal volume, and Harry could hear the voices of Ron and Hermione shouting through the door.

"You must have wanted them to die," Voldemort said. "You brought them here..."

Voldemort raised his wand, pointing it at the door. The door flew open and the two fell in, looking around.

"Harry!" screamed Hermione.

Before Harry could do anything or say anything at all, there was a shout from the lips of Voldemort and a flash of bright green light. As the light cleared, Hermione lay limp on the floor, motionless and pale.

"NO!" Harry and Ron shouted at the same time.

Harry turned to Voldemort, watching him laughing. Harry didn't care, he couldn't care. Voldemort had taken too many lives, too many friends, his parents, Sirius, and hell if was going to take anymore. Without warning, Harry lunged at Voldemort, not caring if he was defenseless and wandless.

Quickly, Voldemort raised his wand, pointing it at Harry, his eyes glowing as he shouted, "Avada..."

In one fluid movement Harry was on the floor.

"Kedavra!"

Green light flooded the room once more as the spell hit Ron right as his wand dropped to the floor. Ron fell limply as Hermione had, and lay on the floor, his eyes glazed over. Harry felt hot tears trickling down his cheeks as Voldemort gained his composure.

Never would Harry want anyone to have done what Ron just did. He could never forgive him. Forgive himself.

"It's what you wanted, Harry," Voldemort said, kicking Ron's lifeless body as Harry slowly moved toward Ron's wand. Harry grasped it in his hand, so forcefully that he nearly broke the wood. Remembering what Moody had said, the only way to perform the most Unforgivable Curse was to mean it with all your heart. Harry stood up slowly, hearing Voldemort's laugh at his last attempt to fight, and right now, Harry meant it.

Rounding on Voldemort, Harry raised the wand as quick as possible, but felt as if it were happening in slow motion. He could see the smirk on Voldemort's face wipe off, replaced by utter shock, and then pure hatred. Harry thought within his mind, Avada Kedavra, and a green light emerged from his wand, hitting Voldemort square in the chest.

The light was incredibly bright, more so than when the curse had come from Voldemort. Harry was blinded and had to shield his eyes. Moments later, the light cleared and Harry looked down at the heap of robes and pale skin. Standing before the body of Lord Voldemort, Harry took in a deep breath, feeling a weight being lifted from his shoulders, but was soon replaced by another feeling. A feeling of loss, and something told him that it wasn't because of Ron or Hermione's death, not completely at least.

His thoughts drifted to what Dumbledore had once said. Voldemort had transferred a part of himself into Harry that fateful night, and Harry supposed that a bit of himself was given to Voldemort in return. Now, that part was dead, and Harry could feel the loss within him. Hermione was dead, his best friend Ron was dead, his parents were dead, the closest thing he had to a father was dead, and the man that gave him all the hope in the world, Dumbledore, was dead. Now, the reason for all that pain and suffering, lay before him, lifeless.

Slowly, Harry lifted Ron's wand and held it to his neck, closing his eyes, feeling the tears rolling down. He lost his family. His friends. Everything that meant something to him. He had to make sure Voldemort was gone forever. And right now, he truly meant what he was about to say.

"Avada Kedavra..."

***

**Fin! Please review this random little piece.**


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